Held Captive
by OceansApart
Summary: Zhao captures Zuko and gets the revenge he's always dreamed of. Dark, mature themes. Rated M for a reason. Abuse, rape, coarse language. Do not read if you do not like this sort of material. Future Zutara.
1. Chapter 1

_Authors Note: ATLA and its characters do not belong to me. This story is dark, and contains mature themes. Please do not read if you are offended or upset by such material. _

_Update: Some very, very minor changes have been made to this chapter, hardly even enough to notice. One reviewer pointed out that I'd used the word "gunshot" which I have removed – I wrote the first version of this in about 30 minutes, and didn't even catch that mistake. Also, I think I am going to continue with this story a bit, though it will not all focus on this captivity, and will turn Zutara-centric. Also, for the purpose of this story, Zhao survived the events that transpired at the Northern Water Tribe – this is set much later on, once Zuko has already turned against the Fire Nation. _

Zuko looked up from the pillow his face had been buried in. Anger shot through him as he tried to move, again, and failed. His hands and feet had been tied to the bedposts – expertly, he thought bitterly. The sheets underneath his bare body were in disarray from his attempts to free himself, bunched uncomfortably underneath his stomach and hips. It pissed him off to no end that he couldn't even fix them, couldn't even make this hell slightly more comfortable. He was powerless, completely and utterly powerless, and that fact alone infuriated him more than anything else.

When Zhao had captured him, he'd fought as hard as he could. He would have won, too, he was certain of it, but Zhao had managed to find him alone – and strong as Zuko was, he could not fight off Zhao's men all by himself. They had immediately restrained him and shoved some herbs into his mouth. He'd tried to spit them out, but Zhao had struck him across the face and then forcibly shoved the herbs down his throat using his finger, nearly making Zuko gag. At the time he hadn't been sure what the herbs were for, but he found out soon enough that they prevented him from bending. He wasn't sure how long their effects lasted, but he was fairly certain he'd been tied to that damn bed for hours now, and he still couldn't produce even the slightest bit of heat.

With a frustrated groan, he stopped fighting against the restraints. He wondered what Zhao was going to do to him. At the same time, he prayed he would never have to find out. Of course, though, he was Zuko, and so his prayers went unanswered. Shortly after he resigned himself to his fate – whatever that fate may be – Zhao walked in and locked the door.

"Well, well," he murmured. "Look at the prince now." He laughed, a dark, menacing sound that made Zuko feel sick. "Looks like I'm the stronger one after all."

"Fuck you," Zuko spat. "If your men hadn't been there you wouldn't have stood a chance." Anger flashed across Zhao's face and he stalked forward quickly, then backhanded Zuko across the face.

"You insolent brat. Don't worry though, Zuko, once I'm finished with you . . ." he chuckled, and Zuko felt his stomach turn. Zhao never finished his sentence, merely smiled at the look of horror that crossed Zuko's face. "I think you need to be punished. Don't you agree?" Knowing he was just trying to goad him, Zuko kept his mouth shut. For the first time since he had been captured, he felt real fear. Zhao was crazy, and he hated him. Zuko was completely at his mercy. He knew, though he wished he didn't, that whatever Zhao did to him was going to be very, very bad.

Zhao walked over to the dresser and removed a strip of animal hide. It looked tough, like Komodo Rhino skin, and was about twelve inches in length. Zhao slapped it against his palm and the sound cracked through the air. He smiled evilly. "Ah, yes. This should do just fine." Zuko knew what he was planning to do, but he refused to give Zhao the satisfaction of fighting. His father had beaten him before; he could take whatever Zhao dished out.

Still, the first slap almost made him cry out. Its sound echoed through the room, and left behind a stripe of fiery pain. Biting his lip, Zuko vowed he would not make a sound. Slap after slap rained down, covering Zuko from waist to knees with dark red stripes. For nearly six minutes the only sound was that of the strap biting in to Zuko's pale bare flesh. When Zhao finally decided he was finished, a thin sheen of sweat covered his brow. Zuko's lip was bleeding from biting it so hard, and the lump in his throat felt as though it were choking him. His butt and thighs were swollen and purple, and he was almost thankful that he was stuck on his stomach; at least he didn't have to worry about sitting on his bruised flesh.

"I think that will do for now," Zhao commented lightly. "Don't worry though, Prince Zuko. I'll be back shortly." With that, he left. Once he was gone, Zuko allowed himself to cry into the pillow, careful not to make a sound. He fell asleep until Zhao returned, several hours later.

Zhao entered the room cheerfully and woke the sleeping prince with a resounding slap to his backside. Zuko whimpered, his eyes flying open. Zhao smirked and allowed his eyes to rove over the naked boy in front of him. He was loving every second of this. He stood over the bed and slapped the boy's butt again. Then he shifted his focus to the inner parts of Zuko's thighs, which had been mostly untouched by the earlier punishment. Several licks had wrapped around and struck the area, but not nearly enough, in Zhao's opinion. Using his hand, he started to spank the sensitive flesh, alternating sides every ten swats. Zuko was tensed; Zhao's fingertips were dangerously close to his balls, and one slip could have him striking them. But it never happened. After two minutes of spanking, Zhao got bored and stopped.

He walked over to the dresser again and removed a thin, swishy looking cane. Zuko nearly wept at the sight of it, so similar to the implement his father had favored – he remembered the feel of each brutal stroke. It seemed as though he was about to feel it again, and he almost broke down and pleaded with Zhao, stopping only when he realized how much the man would get off on his weakness. He steeled himself for the first blow.

It cracked down on his lower back, not on his butt as he had anticipated, and he knew instantly that it had broken skin. His bottom lip was destroyed from the earlier punishment, so he bit down on the pillow instead as Zhao continued to rip open the flesh on his back. Ten strokes. Twenty. Thirty. They crisscrossed one another, and Zuko could feel warm blood running down his back. Tears slipped from his eyes into the pillow, but he made no sound. Zhao, apparently satisfied with the damage he'd inflicted to his back, moved lower and began to assault Zuko's bottom again. He was not hitting as hard, and though each stroke stole Zuko's breath away and filled him with a burning, agonizing pain, they did not break the skin. They would, however, bruise. Zhao delivered them all over his butt, including his sit spot which had been targeted viciously in the earlier punishment.

When he was finished he threw the cane to the floor and removed his clothes. Zuko turned from the pillow to see a naked Zhao standing beside him, cock hard against his stomach. It figured that Zhao would get off on beating him, he thought, curling his lip in disgust. Zhao licked his lips and a look came over his eyes that made Zuko desperately wish that Zhao had just killed him. He knew what was going to happen. And he was powerless to stop it.

Seeing the fear on Zuko's face turned Zhao on even more. He climbed on to the bed and knelt between Zuko's spread thighs, roughly grabbing the abused mounds in front of him.

"You're mine, Zuko. You hear that? I can do whatever," he parted Zuko's cheeks roughly, "the hell," he jammed a large finger inside of him, eliciting a small sound from Zuko's lips, "I want to you." He removed his finger and positioned his cock against Zuko's hole. Zuko felt himself go numb.

"Please. Please don't," he gasped. He felt ashamed at his weakness, but he couldn't stay quiet any longer. Zhao laughed, and the cruelty in it echoed around the room, pierced Zuko's heart. There would be no mercy here. In fact, Zhao probably got off on his protests, on his whimpers and begging. Zhao lifted Zuko's hips and plunged in, hard. Zuko couldn't help himself; he screamed. Zhao moaned in pleasure and urged Zuko to keep screaming. He began to move his hips in hard, quick thrusts, almost shivering in delight each time his flesh came in contact with the burning hot skin of Zuko's ass. He came with a loud, guttural moan, but remained inside Zuko for several minutes. When he pulled out, semen and blood mixed together and ran down Zuko's thigh and onto the sheets.

Zuko lay there, broken, sobbing. He felt a pain deeper than he'd ever known. He was stuck there. He was Zhao's. And he knew that Zhao's torture was not yet over. No. He'd be back.


	2. Chapter 2

Zhao left him alone for the night, after ensuring that Zuko had been fed more of the herbs, but sure enough he was back the next morning. Zuko had slept fitfully, pain, anguish, and hatred fueling his thoughts and preventing him from getting any real rest. His inability to produce even the smallest bit of a spark made him feel even more vulnerable than the stupid chains did. By the time morning rolled around, Zuko wasn't sure if he wanted to sob or kill. Zhao, when he entered, looked decidedly happy, and Zuko felt his blood boil – figuratively, of course.

Striding over, Zhao slapped a hand down on Zuko's bruised behind.

"Well, Zuko, as fun as yesterday was, I'm afraid it's time to get down to business." Zuko's eyes narrowed.

"Screw you." Zhao swatted him, hard, and smirked at the way Zuko's jaw clenched in pain.

"Watch your mouth, my dear prince. All you have to do, Zuko, is tell me where your friends are. I won't let you go, of course – you're much too valuable, and the price your father has on your head is much too high – but I will leave you alone for the duration of the trip back to the Fire Nation." This was a lie, of course, and Zuko knew it as well as Zhao did. If he told, they would be captured immediately; the Avatar would be beaten, probably even worse than Zuko, and the others would be killed – or used as playthings for the soldiers, a thought that made bile rise up in Zuko's throat. He knew that he would remain trapped on this ship, and Zhao would continue to use him until they were all delivered to his father. Killed at the hands of the man who had sired him, Zuko thought bitterly. He refused to believe that would be his fate. He clamped his jaw shut and stared at Zhao with hard, determined eyes. He would not betray his friends. He would not tell Zhao where they were. Whatever the consequences.

Zhao merely laughed. "I suppose we'll do this the hard way then. Fine by me." He leered nastily. "More fun anyway." He walked over and picked up a whip, then quick as lightning brought it down across Zuko's bare back, ripping in to his flesh. A thin trickle of blood ran down his back, mixing with the dried blood left from the previous day's beating, and Zuko bit his lip, re-opening the gash. Again, Zhao prompted him to tell, and Zuko shook his head 'no'. Another lash. More blood. Still Zuko didn't make a sound, refused to respond. This pattern continued thirty times, until the flesh on Zuko's normally pale, smooth back – already damaged from the cane – was red and marred with even more blood and swollen cuts.

Zuko's breath came out heavy and shallow, as though his lungs could not bear the burden of consuming oxygen any longer. He had not cried throughout the ordeal, refused to let more than the occasional groan escape his lips. Zhao looked disgruntled at Zuko's apparent lack of distress, but felt confident he would break the boy soon. He had dreamt too long of the reception he would receive when he delivered the Avatar and Zuko to the Fire Lord to be bested by the insolent brat in front of him. It would only be a matter of time before Zuko was sobbing and spilling his secrets; he had already betrayed his nation, and Zhao figured it would not be very hard to convince the traitor to betray his friends as well.

He left Zuko alone for several hours, still restrained to the bed. When he returned and saw the dried blood coating the teen's back, he felt himself growing hard. Ignoring it for the moment, he approached the bed and grabbed a handful of Zuko's shaggy black hair, pulling his head up off the pillow. He leaned down and in, so close their noses were almost touching. "You will tell me where the Avatar is," he growled. Then he shoved Zuko's face back down to the pillow. Still holding on to his hair, Zhao heated his hand and pressed it down on Zuko's ribs. Zuko screamed and struggled, but between the restraints and Zhao's firm grip, he could not move as his flesh burned and blistered under the touch.

Zhao lifted his hand and examined the burn he'd left behind, smiling in satisfaction at the blistered hand-print. He asked Zuko, again, to reveal the Avatar's location.

"Fuck you," Zuko gasped. "I don't care what you do to me. I will not turn over my friends to you." Zhao slapped his butt as hard as he could, and Zuko hissed, "Bastard." Zhao released his hair and began to punish Zuko's already abused behind, slapping hard and fast, stopping only to retrieve the strip of animal hide. When he finally stopped, he was covered in a light sheen of sweat from the effort. Zuko was lying motionlessly, his eyes carefully blank, jaw clenched tightly against the pain. That time, Zhao could not ignore his arousal. He had never imagined his revenge on the young prince could be so sweet, had never imagined that dominating and abusing the teen could turn him on so much. Now that he had him there, at his mercy, there was no way he wouldn't take advantage of him.

Quickly he stripped and positioned himself on the bed. Zuko didn't say a word in protest, though a long string of curses played through his mind like a song, and had his bending abilities been present, the bed would have been reduced to ashes. He had never hated anyone in his life the way he hated Zhao. Not a sound was made as Zhao entered. Deciding that wouldn't do, Zhao grabbed Zuko's hair and pulled his head back, making him as uncomfortable as possible. His other hand clawed in to the flesh at Zuko's shoulder, fingernails digging in deep. His thrusts were hard and deep, purposefully rough. Between moans and grunts, he taunted and belittled; he reminded Zuko that until he told him where to find the Avatar, he belonged to him, to Zhao.

"And no one will even come for you, Zuko. You know why? Because you're a weak, pathetic, traitor. You're nothing. Your own father and sister want you killed – and they want to be the ones to do it, which is a pity, really. Your uncle abandoned you. Your mother abandoned you. And your so-called friends? They're using you. I bet they hardly even noticed you were missing, and even if they did, there's no way they'd waste their time looking for you." When he finished, he pulled out quickly and removed his hands. Although he hadn't succeeded in making Zuko talk or cry as he'd hoped, Zhao noted with pleasure that Zuko seemed to have taken his words to heart. A lifetime of being told he wasn't good enough, of not having any real friends, had wrecked his self-esteem and Zhao knew he'd struck a chord. After dressing, he promised Zuko he'd be back later. Zuko's eyes narrowed.

"Fuck you," the teen spit back, weakly. Zhao grinned evilly. He hadn't broken him, yet. He still had plenty of time to play with him. He hit Zuko in the face, warned him to show some respect, and left.

Later that evening, Zuko was fed a small amount of rice and allowed to drink a bit of water. He was force-fed more herbs, and laughed at and taunted by the guards who came in to care for him. He didn't care. It didn't matter what they said to him. His only concern was Zhao, and the safety of his friends. He would endure whatever Zhao dealt out. He had to. Even if it meant submitting to Zhao's whims, even if it meant facing his father and Azula, Zuko knew that what was most important was that Aang and the rest of the gang survived. If they didn't, all hope would be lost.


	3. Chapter 3

_Authors note: Sorry this is really short. I've been really busy, and with the end of the semester coming up things are only going to get crazier. I can't promise when I'll update again, but I will try not to take forever. _

It continued for days. Zhao would come into Zuko's room, taunting and belittling, messing with his emotions and crushing his self-esteem until he truly believed that no one was ever going to come for him; that no one had ever cared about him. In between the bouts of verbal and emotional abuse, he continued to demand that Zuko reveal the avatar's whereabouts. Despite everything, Zuko still refused to tell. Even if they had been using him, they were the closest things to friends he'd ever had, and even more than that, they were the world's last hope. As long as the Fire Lord was still alive and attacking the other nations, Zuko would never betray the trust that Aang and the others had placed in him.

So he was beaten. Zhao was savage – his whip tore through Zuko's flesh on many an occasion, leaving behind deep cuts, or reopening previous wounds. Sometimes he would use the strap or cane instead, creating bruises and welts on the prince's butt and legs. His favorite method of torture, however, was heating up his hand and pressing it against Zuko's already abused skin, burning and blistering him. When he had a difficult time finding a place on the back of Zuko's body to hit, he'd simply unchain the boy and whip his chest and stomach, or the front of his legs. If Zuko talked back, ever, he'd hit him in the face. The more he hurt Zuko, the more turned on Zhao seemed to get.

It got to where he was raping the teen three or four times a day. Zuko never fought back, never yelled. He had given up. He didn't even speak, just stared at Zhao with a mixture of hatred and resignation in his eyes. The continuous administration of the herbs, as well as the horrendous abuse, had weakened his body. He was only allowed out of bed twice a day to use the bathroom, and his legs shook terribly when he tried to walk. He spent the rest of the days chained to the bed, unable to move. The guards fed him rice and water twice a day, but that was the only sustenance he received. No one ever checked on his wounds, or even bothered to wash away the blood, though sometimes Zhao would roughly wipe down his body with an old blanket, mostly to admire his handiwork, but also to avoid getting Zuko's blood on him when he fucked him.

He had only been held captive for five days, but it felt like a lifetime. When Zuko was conscious, which was becoming less and less frequent, he would silently pray to the gods to take him. He wasn't sure how much more he could take. None of his wounds ever had any time to heal, and Zhao was only getting more brutal with the passage of time. He had lost a massive amount of blood, and it felt like most of the skin on his back was gone, either from the whip or the burns. The amount of water he was given was not enough to stave off dehydration, and though Zhao had robbed him of his fire, his whole body burned constantly. He was fairly sure he had some sort of an infection, and he didn't expect to receive any sort of treatment. At best, it would kill him. At worst, he would be kept in this horrible state of half-life until he was returned to his father and sister, who would surely enjoy prolonging the torture. All Zuko could do was hope for a quick death, but he knew deep down that Zhao would never let him die aboard his ship. Not when he could have so much fun with him; not when he was worth so much. And so Zuko suffered.

Then, on the fifth night, help finally arrived.


	4. Chapter 4

_Authors note: I'm so sorry, guys. Everything has been pretty crazy, and I haven't had much time to write. I really appreciate the reviews, and everyone encouraging me to continue, and I promise that I'll try. This one will probably be short, too, and I haven't decided how far I'm going to take this story, but I'll do my best to give it a sufficient ending. Please please please try to be patient! I know it's hard – I hate when I have to wait for someone to update. Thank you guys. _

Slightly out of breath, Katara approached yet another door. She pushed it open, water whip at the ready, praying that this one would contain Zuko. She had already taken out several guards herself, and knew that the others had encountered many as well. It had taken them much longer than they had expected to track down Zuko; though she wasn't sure what Zhao and Zuko's relationship was like, she knew from past experiences with the man that he was a cold, ruthless tyrant who would do anything to get in the Fire Lord's good graces.

As the door swung open, she braced herself for an attack. When none came, she crept inside. Katara heard footsteps approaching behind her and quickly turned around, ready to strike.

"Whoa, whoa!" Sokka exclaimed nervously, holding his hands up in front of him protectively. "Aang and Toph are guarding the end of the hall. We're clear for now. Is he in there?" He craned his neck, trying to see around her.

"I'm not sure." With that, Katara turned back to the room and tentatively walked inside with Sokka following her. What she saw stopped her in her tracks, so fast that Sokka walked into her and they both almost fell. Her hand flew to her mouth and tears filled her eyes.

"What's the deal, Katara? Why'd you – oh." He stood, frozen, as Katara approached the bed and the figure lying upon it. He was almost unrecognizable.

Zuko's ankles had been freed from their chains, but his wrists remained shackled to the bed. He was a mass of burns, bruises, cuts, and welts, all in various stages of healing. Some looked fresh – blood was still drying on his mangled flesh. His pale flesh was all but invisible under his wounds.

As Katara approached, he turned his head revealing a black eye and swollen, bloodied lips. Recognition sparked in his eyes, then turned to panic.

"You have to get out of here," he croaked, in barely more than a whisper. Screaming, then disuse, paired with near dehydration had robbed him of his voice.

"No," Katara said forcefully. "We won't leave without you." She moved closer, and he spoke again.

"Please, Katara, get out of here. Get the others out. If he catches you, all of this will have been for nothing." Tears streamed down her face.

"No. We came here to save you, Zuko, and we're not going to leave you. We've been searching ever since we returned to camp and found it in disarray, with you missing." With that, she froze the chains keeping him tethered to the bed and broke them. He looked up at her out of eyes nearly swollen shut, and filled with such pain that Katara almost wanted to look away.

"I don't think I can." Those were the words that broke her. That was Zuko lying in front of her on that bed; the proud, arrogant teen who refused to let anything hold him back. The teen who did everything he could to hide his weaknesses, his emotions, from the rest of the world. Zuko fought harder than just about anyone she knew, determined to prove himself worthy – and there he was, broken, disheartened, unable to hide the truth. He was admitting defeat, for perhaps the first time in his life.

Luckily Sokka stepped in to action. "We don't have much time, guys. The guards could attack at any moment. We have to get out of here." With that he approached the bed, and moved Zuko close to the edge, wincing in sympathy as Zuko's abused body protested the movement. "I know, but we have to get you out of here. Katara can heal you once we're safe, but we don't have time right now." He motioned for Katara, and together they hefted Zuko off the bed and supported his body between them.

Zuko thought he was going to throw up. He wanted to scream, to fall back on that bed and never move. He had already accepted death, had become accustom to the torture Zhao inflicted. Moving was excruciating; feeling hands on him, even if they belonged to friends and not the enemy, made his skin turn clammy and his stomach clench. Sokka's arm around his waist, trying to keep him upright, felt like an invasion of the worst possible sort. He could feel Zhao's hands burning his ribs, could feel him between his thighs, hard and ready to take what was not his. Most of all, he was panicked that Zhao would come back and find them. If the others got captured because of him . . . well, he would gladly endure an eternity of Zhao's abuse if it would save them, and the world, from more brutality.

Katara and Sokka remained unaware of Zuko's thoughts. They did their best not to touch his wounds, but there was almost no undamaged skin left. They hurried down the hall as quickly as possible, and as they neared Aang and Toph they encouraged them to run ahead and take out any possible obstacles. Neither wanted to abandon Zuko for even a second to fight.

They made their way back to Appa with only one small skirmish, which Aang and Toph dealt with quickly. As soon as they were mounted on his back and rising high into the air, Sokka removed his jacket and laid it carefully over Zuko's naked body. He was shaking violently, though the night was warm. Katara knelt down next to him and began to heal the part of his upper back that was still exposed. He flinched at her touch and she nearly wept.

"I know," she murmured, continuing to heal, "but I have to do this, Zuko. These wounds are bad, and some of them look infected. It's going to take me a long time to get all of them, and it might be uncomfortable, but I have to do it. You suffered, so much, to keep us safe. I won't let you suffer anymore." Tears ran down his face, though not a sound escaped his lips. No one spoke. Aang, who had not even seen the full extent of the damage, could not bear to look at the teen. Sokka, on the other hand, could not look away. Toph, of course, could not see the wounds, but she knew just from Zuko's heartbeat that he was in bad shape.

So they flew through the night in silence. They all wondered what would happen next.


	5. Chapter 5

_Authors note: This is just a short update, but there should be more coming soon. Hope you enjoy. _

By the time they had found a spot deemed safe enough to land, Katara had healed the worst of the injuries to Zuko's upper back. Even that small area had robbed her of a lot of strength, and she was disheartened. All she wanted was to make Zuko stop hurting so much, but at the rate she was going it would take days to heal him adequately.

Aang and Toph set to work making him the softest bed they could manage with their meager supplies and whatever they could find in the nearby area, and Katara and Sokka guided him to it as gently as possible. Zuko was shaking and silent, but he didn't utter a word of protest. No sound of pain escaped his lips, though the gang knew that despite their best efforts they were still hurting him.

No one slept easy that night. The following morning everyone but Katara and Zuko went off to train. Once they were alone, Katara guided Zuko to a sitting position – trying hard to ignore the look of agony that passed across his features at the movement – and fed him broth, occasionally giving him water to sip, as well. They didn't talk; Katara wasn't sure what to say, and Zuko wasn't sure he could. When Katara announced that she wanted to heal him more, he simply nodded and laid back down.

The look in his eyes frightened her. He seemed beyond caring. Empty. She wondered what Zhao had done to break the boy in front of her, to render him so completely despondent. With a small sigh she settled herself down next to him, trying to get comfortable. She knew she would be there for awhile.

Zuko was still naked – even the thin blanket they had covered him with hurt – so she simply moved it down a little, revealing his back down to his waist. He flinched and whimpered softly as she did so, and her heart broke.

"It's okay, Zuko," she murmured softly. "I won't hurt you. I promise." She stroked his hair soothingly, pretending not to see the tears that he was obviously trying to hide rolling down his face. After several minutes she took a deep breath and turned her attention to his back. It was a mess. She wasn't even sure where to begin. Some of the cuts were deep, and looked prone to infection. The burns were raw and bloody looking. Finally she just decided to work on specific areas rather than specific injuries.

She had to stop several times, but by the time the others returned hours later, his back was somewhat normal again. The cuts and burns would leave scars, but they were now in the later stages of healing rather than fresh. Some of the bruises remained, but they were no longer blue and purple and black – they had faded to a rather sickly yellowish color, indicating they would fade away entirely in the near future. It wasn't perfect, and it wouldn't take all the pain away, but Katara knew she couldn't fix everything in a day – no matter how badly she wanted to. They were both sweating, and Zuko looked even paler than usual, but he hadn't protested or asked her to stop once.

Exhausted but feeling accomplished, Katara went to work preparing food for everyone. As had become her habit, she helped Zuko eat and drink – everyone had noticed that he seemed skittish around the guys, so Aang and Sokka were trying to keep their distance and make sure he was as comfortable as possible. Though no one understood why he was behaving that way, they just assumed it was because all of the guards – and Zhao himself, obviously – had been male, and therefore their presence was too reminiscent of his time in captivity.

Once they were done she went off with Aang to find the herbs she needed in order to stave off any infection Zuko might get – or already have. Back at camp, things were solemn. Toph and Sokka were trying to act as natural as possible, but neither of them knew what to say to Zuko. Sokka knew his presence made Zuko uneasy, so he mostly kept to himself; Toph had tried speaking with Zuko, but he was too lost in his nightmares to really respond and she had eventually given up. She really hadn't expected any differently, though. Even if no one else realized it, Toph knew that there was only one person who had a shot at helping Zuko – and it was not her. Katara was his only hope.

When Aang and Katara returned, she instantly approached Zuko with the herbs. He looked at them, horrified, and shook his head.

"You have to take them, Zuko. They're for infections. We can't risk you getting sick." He shook his head again.

"They fed me herbs," he croaked. "They stopped my bending."

"These won't do that, Zuko, I promise. They did terrible things to you, I know, but I won't. If you really don't want these I won't force you – but if you get sick, I'm not going to have a choice." Zuko stared up at her solemnly from his bed where he laid, contemplating her words. After several long minutes he nodded.

"Okay."

"You'll take them?" He went silent again, then closed his eyes as though it were too hard to keep them open. When he spoke, his voice was full of resignation. He sounded too tired to fight.

"Yes." Satisfied, Katara gave him the herbs and some water. Then they all left him alone.

Later that night, when everyone was asleep, Katara awoke to the sound of low moaning. Curious and concerned she got up and saw quickly that it was Zuko. Creeping closer, taking care not to startle him, she knelt and watched. He was lying on his stomach, as he had become accustomed to. His hands were covering his ears, fingertips digging into the sides of his scalp. He was shaking his head 'no', crying and moaning softly.

"Please," he begged, "please, stop." Katara couldn't take it anymore. Crawling over to his side, she laid a gentle hand on his mostly-healed back.

"Zuko, it's okay," she murmured. "No one is going to hurt you." He startled awake, grabbing her wrist painfully tight. His eyes were wild, terrified. Katara stifled a cry of pain and surprise, but didn't try to pull her arm back. When he saw it was her, Zuko gentled his grip but did not let go.

"It's just me, Zuko. I won't hurt you." He nodded, then seemed to realize that his cheeks were covered in tears. Embarrassed, he turned away.

"Go away, Katara, please." His voice was still rusty from disuse. He had hardly spoken a word since they'd rescued him. She rubbed his back and he flinched; she pulled her hand away like she'd been burned. She knew she hadn't hurt him – after all, she'd healed his back herself – but she couldn't understand why he'd react like that.

Zuko knew instantly that he'd upset her, and though he regretted it, he knew he wouldn't have been able to stop himself. Even when she touched him during the healing sessions his skin crawled. Every innocent brush of skin against skin reminded him of the brutality with which Zhao had tainted him. He was constantly waiting for more harm to come; every encounter with another human being was a threat. Katara was healing his body, but she could not heal his mind; at least not with her bending skills.

"I'm sorry," he said softly. "Every time someone touches me I expect to get burned again." It wasn't the whole truth, but it was the closest he could get, and it seemed to work.

"Oh, Zuko." Her voice was heavy with sadness. She couldn't think of anything to say. He just sort of shrugged, his head still facing away from her.

"Goodnight, Katara."

"Goodnight, Zuko."

The next day after everyone had eaten breakfast and the others had gone off to train, Katara approached Zuko.

"After your back, your legs were probably abused the most. I'd like to start healing them, if you're okay with that." He wasn't. He never wanted anyone near him ever again. But she was right, and to be honest, they were hurting him like hell. After a brief internal struggle, he agreed.

She gave him more of the herbs which he took without complaint. Then he laid down on the bed they had made for him. Though his back was better, the rest of him was still too hurt to stand the contact of material for any real length of time so he had stayed naked, covered only by the blanket. He had not parted with it since the moment it had been given to him. When Katara folded the blanket up to reveal his legs from the knees down his whole body tensed visibly, but she pretended not to notice. She hesitated a second, giving him a chance to back out, but they never came.

His calves weren't as bad as his thighs, but she suspected he wasn't ready for that, yet. Even so, they were in fairly bad condition, covered in crisscrosses of welts and cuts, with an odd burn here and there. She set to work, and gradually his body relaxed. It didn't take nearly as long to heal as his back had, and she contemplated getting a start on his thighs but decided against it.

"Can you roll over?" He glanced up at her, confused, and she shrugged. "I'm still okay to heal a bit more. I figured I could take care of your face, and maybe your chest, too."

Zuko agreed, figuring it would make laying down a bit easier. The others came back before she was finished, but once his chest, face, and ribs were healed, they all agreed he looked much better. He managed a small smile, rasped his thanks, and told them he was tired. Taking the hint, they all wandered just far away enough to give him privacy without leaving him vulnerable to attack.

Once they were gone he balled up a bit of the blanket and shoved it in his mouth. A jagged scream tore through his throat, muffled by the wad of fabric. Then he was silent. His eyes stayed dry. He fell into a restless sleep, haunted by images that no one should ever see, memories that no one should ever have. Zuko saw, in perfect detail, every single thing that had been done to him. He relived the abuse over and over again. He saw himself die. And he woke up later wishing that he had.


	6. Chapter 6

_This is short, but I have more free time now so I'm hoping to update again soon. I had a hard time deciding where I wanted to go with this story, and to be honest I'm still not sure – I'm really just writing as things come to me, and I'll see how it goes. Thank you to everyone who is sticking with this – I hope this small update will satisfy you for a bit, until I can add more. To the reviewer who asked when (time frame) this story occurs, I don't have a definite time. It's after Zuko joins them, obviously, and by the time he's captured he's managed to gain Katara's trust so he's been with them for a bit. I would say sometime after the Boiling Rock, probably? Sorry I can't be more precise, lol. Anyway, thank you all for the reviews and support. _

Later that same night, Katara watched him sleep. It was fitful; he tossed and turned, mumbling incoherently and occasionally crying out. It hurt her to watch him like that. Zuko had never truly been a peaceful sleeper – and with his past, who could expect him to be? – but she had never seen him so bad before. She wanted to go over and try to soothe him, but the experience the previous night had taught her that anything she did would just bring greater distress.

Just as she was getting up to leave, one of his more violent kicks sent the blanket on him flying, revealing the pale flesh underneath. She hadn't seen the whole of him since the night they'd rescued him, and the sight of his thighs and butt made her cry out softly. She had known they were bad, but had never expected them to look as they did; they were destroyed. She had no idea how he'd even been sitting up the past couple of days to eat. The pain must have been incredible, but he'd never said a word – which was so like him, really, Katara thought to herself as she looked at him. She knew that Zuko suffered a lot in silence so that the gang wouldn't worry, and truthfully she had never met anyone so willing to suffer for the good of others as he.

She moved closer to him to cover him back up, and as she leaned in closer she realized that although she'd cleaned off the rest of his body, Zuko had never let her get anywhere near that area. It was clean, though – apparently at some point during one of the nights when everyone had been asleep, he'd managed to get himself to the water. She found herself again amazed at his strength; she knew from watching him during the day, and from healing him, that his body had been through a great deal of trauma and that his immobilization and near dehydration had made it hard for him to walk around without pain.

With a soft sigh, careful not to wake him, she pulled the cover back over him. She would have to heal him soon – some of the cuts on his butt and thighs were deep, and even though he was taking his herbs faithfully, Katara still worried about infection. She wasn't sure how to go about the process, though; Zuko was still so reluctant to let her touch him, even in the most innocuous of places like his back or face, she couldn't imagine him being okay with her touching parts of him that were much more private.

Deciding that she'd worry more about it in the morning, Katara crept over to her blankets as silently as possible and laid down. But she couldn't get her mind off of the broken boy laying several yards away.

Zuko felt her pull the blanket over his body and forced himself not to stiffen, wanting her to believe he was still asleep. He listened carefully to her footsteps, knew the exact second she laid down. After several minutes he slowly opened his good eye, the one that hadn't been scarred, and chanced a glance over in Katara's direction. To his relief she was facing the opposite way, though he belatedly realized that she wouldn't have been able to see his eye in the dark, anyway – not from that distance. He laid there quietly watching her toss and turn, clearly troubled by something, and felt guilty. After what felt like forever she finally stilled, and he watched her chest slowly rise and fall in a gentle cadence. Certain that everyone else was deeply asleep, he pulled himself into a sitting position and contemplated the night ahead of him.

Since he had slept so much during the day, he was wide awake. The night after they had rescued him, Zuko had crept down to the nearby river and cleaned himself thoroughly, ignoring the pain that had surged throughout every fiber of his being, ignoring the shaking of his protesting limbs, desperate to just be clean again. It hadn't helped. His skin still felt dirty; he could still smell the scents that had permeated the room that had been his prison. Blood. Sweat. Sex. Fear. Hate surged through him, raw and powerful, and without his really meaning to, fire sprang to his palms.

"Oh!" Quickly he extinguished the flame and clamped his mouth and eyes shut, praying that no one had heard him. When he heard no footsteps approaching, no inquisitive voices, he carefully re-opened his eyes. For the first time since he had been captured he felt a small surge of elation. He could bend again. Zuko felt like weeping in relief; losing his fire had doomed him to his fate, had rendered him powerless. Now, even if his swords were stolen, he could fight back against anyone who approached.

Once his excitement over his bending had passed, he realized again how dirty he felt. Over the years he had grown skilled at maneuvering around undetected, and he put those skills to use as he made his way to the river. The first time he had made the journey every step had been a struggle, but thanks to Katara's healing, the second time around was much easier.

Still, by the time he had reached the water he was panting and sweating from the effort; his legs shook so badly he was afraid he would fall, and fresh blood ran down his legs from the cuts that remained – they had been re-opened by the movement. Zuko cursed softly. The practical part of him, the part that ensured his survival from an early age, screamed for him to let Katara heal the rest – and worst – of his wounds. But the emotional part of him, that vulnerable part that he had always strived to keep hidden (except from Uncle – he'd never really been able to fool Uncle into believing it didn't exist) fought back through broken sobs, begging to be left alone. Zuko wasn't sure he could handle the feeling of another hand on his thigh, on his butt. Touching his skin. Seeing him, completely naked, and once again at the mercy of another.

Deep in his heart, he knew Katara would never hurt him – provided he never betrayed her, of course – but his experience with Zhao had robbed him of his ability to trust. Even Sokka and Aang, both of whom he had grown to genuinely like and regard as friends, were a threat to him now. He saw their hands, larger and rougher than Katara's, and could only think of the damage they were capable of inflicting. Hidden behind their harmless smiles he imagined he could sense something sinister lurking, waiting for the moment it could attack.

He waded into the river and sank down until the water reached his chin. For a long time he simply remained there like that, letting the water flow past and soothe his aching. Then he washed, mindful of the areas still riddled with cuts, until his skin felt raw. It wasn't enough – he still felt dirty – but he was afraid he would actually start to lose skin if he continued so he forced himself to stop. Still, he couldn't bring himself to leave the water. Taking a deep breath he sank beneath the surface, contemplating how easy it would be to not come back up.

He did, but only when his lungs burned and threatened to burst.

"Fucking coward," he muttered aloud. And then he returned to camp, unaware that Katara lay awake, fear coursing through her body, anxiously awaiting his return.

Zuko sat down on his blanket and picked up a small stick, twirling it idly in his hands. On impulse, he lit it on fire – just a small flame at the very tip that quickly spread down it's length. Just before it reached his fingers he looked up. Katara was staring at him, the light from the fire glinting in her eyes. He extinguished the flame and simply sat, staring at her through the darkness. Neither spoke. Neither moved. When he couldn't take the pain of sitting any more he laid down, but kept his face towards hers. Neither could say who fell asleep first, but for the first time in a long time, they both slept peacefully.


	7. Chapter 7

The following morning, Zuko awoke before anyone else. Deciding it was time to do something other than sleep all day, he retrieved a pair of thin, black cotton pants from his meager stash of possessions that he had taken with him from the Fire Nation. As he pulled them on, biting down on his lip hard enough to draw blood as they rubbed against his wounds, he found himself immensely grateful that the gang had grabbed them from their previous campsite – the one that had been nearly destroyed by Zhao and his men – for without them, he would have been forced to go naked or borrow Sokka's too-small clothing.

Once he had his pants on he decided to start a fire. The previous mornings the others had fought to get one started, knowing it was beyond his abilities, and he relished the thought of actually being useful again.

When the others woke up they were surprised to see Zuko, clothed, sitting and manipulating the fire in front of him. Though his eyes were solemn, weary, they no longer looked as haunted as they had in days previous. He noticed their waking, felt their eyes on him, but he didn't say anything. He suddenly desperately wished he had remained in bed, away from them. He avoided eye contact with everyone, even Katara. When she sat down next to him to help him eat, as she had since his rescue, he grabbed the bowl from her hands.

"I don't need your help," he snapped. Taken aback, Katara bit her lip and swallowed back her surprise – and the sharp retort that had almost escaped. 'He's recovering,' she thought to herself. 'I can't snap at him now.' Moving away from him, she grabbed a bowl for herself. Aang and Sokka were staring in shock at Zuko over their bowls, Sokka with his bowl suspended halfway to his lips. A sharp look from Katara brought them both back to their senses and they resumed eating with newfound speed.

After they had eaten and Toph, Aang, and Sokka had gone off to train – or, more realistically, to give Zuko and Katara some privacy – Katara approached Zuko, who was once again playing with flames. There was a vacancy in his gaze, and an air about him that suggested it would be better to avoid him. Standing several feet away, Katara paused, uncertain. She could see, clearly, that Zuko wanted to be left alone, but she really needed to continue healing him. Finally, with the images from the previous night stubbornly remaining lodged in her mind, she made her choice.

"Zuko, I really need to look at the rest of your injuries. The herbs are doing a lot to stave off infection, but I can't guarantee that they'll be enough if I can't at least speed up the healing process. Your body has been through a lot, and based on the way your other injuries looked, the ones that are left aren't going to heal on their own very fast." She finished speaking and stood still, waiting for him to say something. Minutes passed. Nothing. "Zuko," she started again, and finally he looked up at her.

His face was deathly pale, strained. He opened his mouth several times before words came out.

"Fine."Shaking, he went over to his bed and lowered his pants, letting them fall around his ankles. He laid down quickly, his whole body growing hot in embarrassment and discomfort. Katara had averted her gaze while Zuko stripped, trying to give him some semblance of privacy even though she would be looking at him once she started to heal.

Zuko took deep, rattling breaths, trying to calm himself down. He heard her get up and approach him, heard the soft ruffle of clothing as she knelt by his side. She was close, so close, and he felt bile rising in his throat. He couldn't look at her, couldn't stand the feeling of her eyes on his naked form. He wanted to scream but he held it back. Had he looked, he would have seen the tears that poured from Katara's eyes as she got her second true look at his wounds. He was destroyed.

Anger welled up deep inside of her, matched only by her hatred for the man who had done this to him. For perhaps the first time in her life, Katara truly knew what blood-lust felt like. She wanted to hunt Zhao down and make him suffer as he had made Zuko suffer; she wanted to beat him until no skin remained, wanted to take control of his blood and render him completely helpless, wanted him to feel a pain so excruciating he would beg her to bring him death.

It was a new feeling, one that surprised and dismayed her. She had never thought she'd feel so protective over Zuko, so eager to cause suffering to help ease his own, and she tried to brush aside the emotions and focus on the task at hand. She shifted her position a bit and lowered her hands.

It was too much. He couldn't take it.

"No!" Katara froze, hands inches away from Zuko's skin. "Don't touch me. Don't fucking touch me." His words came out in harsh gasps. He quickly pushed himself to his knees and grabbed the pants, standing and yanking them back on roughly. "I changed my mind."

"Zuko, please," Katara begged. She stood and walked towards him, reaching up to touch his shoulder. "You need –" He spun around and grabbed her wrists in an iron-like grip. Fire burned in his eyes; brutality lent a harsh angle to his features. Katara trembled, struggling to contain her cries. He lowered his head until they were eye to eye, inches apart.

"You have no fucking idea what I need. You don't know anything about me, Katara. Leave me alone." She recoiled at his snarling tone, flinched at the harsh words, then straightened her spine and locked her blue eyes unflinchingly on his golden ones.

"I don't know what he did to you, Zuko, but you're wrong. Maybe I don't know all about your past, but I have a pretty good idea of who you are, as a person." Her eyes softened. "You're one of the strongest, most determined people I've ever met. You're loyal to those who matter to you, and you'd do just about anything to protect the ones you love. You're resilient and brave and kind, and stubborn to a fault. I know that I can't convince you to let me heal you, now that your mind is set, but I truly hope you'll think about what I said and seriously consider giving it another try. Because I'm stubborn, too, Zuko, and I can't just sit back and watch knowing how you look and knowing you're in pain."

Zuko released her wrists and turned away, not wanting her to see how much her words had affected him. Frustrated, she swiped a hand across her wet eyes, brushing the tears away, and headed down to the river to practice bending. She knew the others were close enough to hear if anything happened back at camp, so she felt safe leaving Zuko alone.

Once she was gone he started bending, punching fireballs from his fists, imagining Zhao standing in front of him. He trained by himself until the others returned, confused, looking around for Katara. He did not offer up an explanation, just continued to battle an invisible enemy. Then, without warning, a rock came hurtling towards him. He quickly retaliated with a gust of fire and Toph smirked.

"Oh, it's on," she proclaimed. Aang and Sokka stepped back, watching the two of them spar. Zuko's movements were slower and clumsier than usual, his normal agility temporarily gone due to his injuries, but he fought with everything he had. When he was finally forced to quit, panting and soaked with sweat, he noticed a strange wetness on the backs of his legs and realized he had wrenched open the cuts again. He cursed and dropped to his knees, trying to catch his breath. Concerned, Aang stepped forward.

"Are you okay?" He reached out to touch the boy in front of him and Zuko snarled and shoved him back, almost causing Aang to fall. Sokka caught him and looked at Zuko as though he'd lost his mind.

"He was just seeing if you were okay, Zuko. You didn't have to –"

"I don't need anyone to see if I'm okay," he growled. "Why doesn't anyone understand that? I'm not a fucking baby. If I need help, I'll ask for it."

"No, you won't," Aang said softly. "You think that you can handle everything on your own, and maybe you can, but you don't need to. We're your friends, Zuko."

"Yeah, Zuko," Sokka added. "Even if you are an ass sometimes." Toph snorted, then her face grew serious and her tone unnaturally somber.

"We were worried about you. And if you'd stop being so damn thickheaded and prideful all the time, you'd realize that's a good thing." Slightly ashamed, Zuko rose and turned away from them.

"I'm going to the river." Aang opened his mouth to protest but Sokka stopped him.

"Let him go, Aang." As Zuko left, a small smile spread across Toph's face, unnoticed by the others. Whether he consciously realized he was doing it or not, Zuko was seeking out Katara. 'Just as it should be,' Toph thought, satisfied.


	8. Chapter 8

_Authors note: Hope you all enjoy the recent updates. I'll try to keep them coming, though I can't guarantee they'll be as quick in coming as these past three have. Inspiration struck, what can I say? Anyway, I hope you all continue to stick with this! _

As Zuko approached the river he heard the unmistakable sound of splashing and belatedly realized that Katara had gone to the river to train. He thought about turning around or going somewhere else, but he found himself drawn to the water. He approached with caution, not wanting to startle her and provoke an attack, and then simply stood and watched her.

She guided the water back and forth in a gentle motion between her hands before manipulating it into the shape of a whip, which she slashed through the air with a quick, vicious flick of her wrist. Zuko flinched, arched his back as though it had struck him. A cry escaped his throat, unnoticed by him as he slipped into the past.

_He was lying on that bed, immobilized, bleeding. His flesh was torn apart but the whip kept falling, kept slicing open his pale skin as he refused to answer Zhao's question. Over and over he heard the crack, felt the pain, struggled to keep from screaming out in agony and giving in to Zhao's demands. He would protect his friends. He would. His mind started to grow fuzzy and he prayed that he would pass out soon. Then the whipping stopped and he felt the bed shift as Zhao knelt between his bloody thighs. He whimpered, wanting to beg, too prideful to do so. Zhao entered him, the second time that day, and his body screamed in protest at the intrusion he was helpless to prevent. He bit down on the pillow as hard as he could, refusing to let Zhao know how bad it hurt. _

The water splashed down and Katara ran up the bank to where Zuko had fallen, curled up, trembling worse than she had ever seen before. She hadn't heard him approach, hadn't noticed anything until he cried out; by the time she'd turned her head he'd already been on the ground. She had quickly scanned the area, ascertaining that they were alone.

Katara fell to the ground beside him and guided his head to her lap. She expected him to fight against the contact, but he was too far gone in whatever nightmare had seized him to even notice. She stroked his hair, murmuring his name, assuring him over and over again that he was safe, that she was there, that she wouldn't let anyone hurt him. Gradually he seemed to come back to himself. His shaking calmed down a bit, but didn't stop. His hand went to her thigh, wrapped around it tightly as though he were anchoring himself to her.

"Katara," he whispered. She continued to stroke his hair, reassuring him that he was okay. He laid there, somehow comforted by her touch – it was so like his mother's, so different from the way anyone had touched him since she disappeared – that even his memories of Zhao's torture couldn't taint it. He relaxed into her lap, though his grip on her thigh stayed tight.

When he finally moved to get up, Katara noticed the blood on his pants and commented on it. He shrugged and looked away.

"Please. Please, let me heal you."

"I don't . . . I don't think I can stand it. You're right, I know, but I . . ." He trailed off and Katara felt her heart break at the helpless way he shrugged again.

"Why don't you wash off? I won't look." He agreed; after that memory, he felt more soiled than mere sweat or blood could ever produce. Once Katara's back was turned he shed his pants and waded into the water. Once he was submerged to his shoulders he yelled that she could turn back around. She did, then remained sitting, watching him. He struggled to contain his embarrassment at her attention, and went about washing himself, pretending he was alone.

After awhile he asked her to turn back around and exited the water. He quickly soaked his pants, trying to get the blood out of them, then started to pull them back on. They stuck to his legs uncomfortably and he groaned and gave up, throwing them back to the ground.

"I'll try." Katara turned, confused, then blushed and turned back away quickly.

"Try what?" she asked, trying to block out the memory of Zuko's nakedness – his _frontal _nakedness. He blushed, too, his embarrassment momentarily overshadowing the fear that gripped his stomach at the thought of attempting to be healed again. In a voice he struggled to keep even, he explained his meaning. Katara's eyes widened. "Are you sure?"

"No." His voice was solemn. "But the cuts keep opening. I have to at least try." With that, he laid down on the soft grass by the riverside. "I'm ready."

Katara approached slowly, giving him time to back out. His hands were at his sides, fists clenched so tightly his knuckles were white. His eyes were squeezed shut and his body had resumed its previous trembling. When she knelt beside him, so close her knees were almost touching his skin, his body drained of the little color it possessed. She watched as he swallowed, hard, and gave a terse little nod, as though signaling her to start.

She started at the lowest part of his thighs, right above his knees, not yet ready to intrude upon his more personal places. Though he flinched at her touch, he didn't react as he had earlier and Katara took that as her cue. As quickly as she could manage, she healed the lower half of his thighs and then stopped, trying to assess how Zuko was doing.

His body hadn't relaxed at all; if anything, he seemed even tenser than when Katara had started, every muscle rigid as though bracing for something. She hesitated, then said softly, "I need to move up now." When he didn't say anything, she moved her hands to the upper parts of his thighs where the damage was worse.

Four deep cuts lined each leg – the ones that kept opening. A horrible burn in the faint shape of a hand curled around his upper right thigh, the finger-like parts disappearing between his firmly closed legs. Two slightly smaller, less severe burns decorated his left thigh. Dozens of shallow cuts marred both thighs, criss crossing over one another, slightly swollen and red around the edges. Deep purple, black, and blue bruises painted his normally pale flesh.

Katara moved her hands to the deepest cuts, located right underneath his butt, and as she did Zuko let out a choked cry. His head was facing away from her; Katara shifted so that she could see him better and felt her heart sink. Zuko's eyes were hollow-looking, focused on something only he could see. His tremors worsened, his nails bit into the soft flesh of his palms, and his breath came out in short, harsh rasps. Tears sprang to her eyes.

"Zuko," she pleaded in barely over a whisper, "Zuko, please, look at me." Slowly his head turned, but his eyes remained unfocused. "Zuko, look at me," she pleaded again. "Focus on me. Only on me. It's Katara. I'm Katara. I won't hurt you." His eyes filled with tears, met hers. "That's it, Zuko," she murmured reassuringly. "Keep looking at me, okay? Remember that it's me, not Zhao. Remember that I'm healing you, not hurting you. I'll never hurt you, Zuko." Softly she stroked his hair, his cheek, blinking ferociously against the tears stinging her eyes. "It's just me," she whispered again, and Zuko moved his head slightly, in what may have been a nod.

Katara took a deep breath and moved her hands back to his thighs. She saw the tears that sprang to his eyes, rolled over his nose and down his cheek to the ground below him, but he didn't protest. His golden eyes were locked on her face.

It took a long time, but gradually the deep cuts and severe burn were in the final stages of healing, the shallower cuts were mere white lines, and the other two burns were glossy pink scars; the bruises were yellow, almost completely healed. When she was satisfied, Katara sat back and took a deep breath, exhausted. She still hadn't healed his butt, but his thighs had taken a lot more of her strength than she'd anticipated. Still, she was determined to finish what she had started.

After resting for several minutes, she shifted and prepared to get back to work. As she lowered her hands, however, Zuko let out the most pathetic whimper she'd ever heard.

"No," he sobbed. "Please, no more." Katara looked down and saw that his eyes had grown dead-looking, no longer fixed on her but once again into the distance, locked on something only he could see. An agonized scream tore from his throat, muffled by the fist that he shoved against his lips, trying desperately to silence himself. When he moved it away, Katara saw blood dripping down his chin from between his lips; he'd once again bitten his lip open.

Suddenly things made sense. Why he wouldn't let anyone touch him. Why he was especially uncomfortable around Aang and Sokka. Why his eyes were so haunted. Why he couldn't sleep at night. Katara's hand flew to her mouth and she looked down at the boy in front of her. Her hatred for Zhao came rushing back, ten-fold. He had . . . she couldn't even think it.

She laid down next to Zuko, fixing her eyes on his. He wasn't crying, and suddenly she realized how brave he must have been – no, how brave he _was_ – she corrected mentally, to have endured those five days with Zhao. She reached over and took his hand in her own, grasping it tightly, her thumb stroking his wrist.

"You're safe now," she whispered. "No one is ever going to do that to you again." Zuko's eyes snapped back to focus on her face. Pink stained his cheeks and he realized what she had said, realized that she knew. Shame washed over him and he tried to pull away but she stopped him. "You don't have to talk about it if you don't want to, but don't you dare be ashamed, Zuko," she said, reading him correctly.

For a second he just stared at her in wonder; then, he broke down. He had turned so that he was on his side, slightly curled, still facing her, and Katara moved until she was holding him tightly against her. She could feel his tremors pulsing through her body, feel his tears on her skin, mingling with her own. His body was warm, so warm against her; she could feel the heat through the thin clothing she had worn to practice bending. His hands gripped into her back, locking her in place.

Gradually his sobs quieted, but neither of them moved. It wasn't until they realized the gang would be worried that they finally separated, Zuko pulling on the damp cotton pants, both of them washing their faces in the river. Though the walk back to camp was silent, they both knew something important had just transpired between them. What exactly that was, though, neither could find an answer for.


	9. Chapter 9

_Authors note: It has been forever since I updated, and I'm really sorry. Thanks to everyone who has stuck with this, and for all the great reviews. I hit a wall with this story awhile ago, and I recently decided to try to give it another shot. Still not sure how it's going to work out, but I promise I'm going to try. Hopefully I don't have any major mistakes in this, haha. Again, thanks! Enjoy._

Sokka and Aang stared, curiosity (and a hint of jealousy, in Aang's case) clear in their eyes as Zuko and Katara returned together. Sokka, intent on performing what he considered his duty as 'big-brother' opened his mouth to ask what they had been doing, but a hard elbow in the ribs from Toph distracted him.

"Oww," he complained. "What was that for, Toph?"

"Oh, sorry," she said innocently. "I didn't see you there." Katara giggled at the look of confusion that crossed her brother's features; Aang and Toph joined in seconds later as Sokka's face reddened. The corner of Zuko's mouth lifted slightly, in what almost passed for a smirk.

"You always do that," Sokka huffed, pretending to be angry. Toph cracked up.

"That's because you always fall for it. You're so easy, Sokka."

"I do not!" he protested loudly. They started bickering good-naturedly and Katara took the opportunity to slip past them, reminding herself to be extra nice to Toph for distracting her brother and allowing her to avoid any questions.

Zuko, too, quickly made his escape, keeping as far away from Katara as possible. He couldn't believe that she had figured out what had happened; he wasn't sure if he was relieved or mortified that someone knew the truth. His stomach felt tight, twisted. Laying there with her, he had felt more at ease than he had in a long time, and yet it came at a price. He wondered when – not if – she would ask him details. He had seen the questions in her eyes, knew that she had only kept quiet out of compassion. He also knew that sooner or later, curiosity would get the better of her.

So he started avoiding her. The day after the incident at the river, Sokka broke the news that they needed to keep moving if they wanted to stay on schedule. Although Zuko wasn't completely healed, no one could argue; they knew that Sokka was right. They needed to move on. Finding Zuko and staying in one place to heal him had severely slowed their progress – not that any of them would have done differently.

Once they were on the move again, Zuko found it easier to stay away from Katara. He could feel her watching him, and on the rare occasion that he had looked in her direction, the sadness in her eyes had slammed into his gut like Zhao's fist. He felt bad, pushing her away after everything she had done to help him, but the shame of what had happened to him was too great. He couldn't bear to look at her and see the truth in her eyes, the pity she felt for him. He had spent his entire life building up his defenses, putting on an air of confidence and strength that he had never truly felt. But with Katara, that was gone. She knew how vulnerable he was, how weak. He had never loathed himself so intensely.

Each night when he fell asleep, the memories came back to torment him. Zhao had done more than just mar his body; he had infected his mind. He couldn't even close his eyes anymore without seeing Zhao standing by the bedside, naked, his eyes wild with lust and power; couldn't move without feeling the lash of a whip. Though most of his wounds were healed, he could still feel every cut, every bruise, every burn. Zuko felt, in his heart, that he always would. Zhao's marks would always remain on his skin, in the form of scars that even Katara couldn't fully erase. The feel of him between his thighs, tearing him open and invading his body would always be there, making him feel dirty, tainted from the inside out. He was ruined. Or at least that's what he thought.

Katara knew that Zuko was avoiding her, and although she understood why, it still hurt. She didn't want to upset him so she gave him room, but she couldn't help but watch him go about his day to day business. He had begun training with the others again, and was pulling his weight around camp, acting as though everything were fine. He was still quieter than normal, still shied away if Aang or Sokka got too close to him, but it was obvious he was trying. She didn't understand how he did it. If she had gone through even a fraction of what Zuko had, she would have crumbled, and she imagined that most other people would have, too. She found herself constantly in awe of his strength and composure, his willingness to pretend everything was okay for everyone elses sake.

Still, she wished he would talk to her. Katara knew that despite how he looked and acted, Zuko was hurting. Every once in awhile, when he thought no one was looking, she caught a glimpse of the shadows that lingered in his eyes. At night, when everyone else was asleep, Katara layed awake and watched Zuko move restlessly around the camp, unable to rest. The nights he did sleep, she watched him toss and turn under the blankets, mumbling and crying softly, pleading to be left alone. She wanted nothing more than to get up and lay down beside him, take him into her arms and comfort him, but she knew she couldn't. Even if he wasn't avoiding her, she doubted he would let her hold him.

It was four days after they had left the original camp, and Zuko had woken suddenly from a fitful sleep, shoulders shaking, body drenched in sweat. Desperate to get away, he had leapt to his feet and skulked off into the dark, towards the small lake in the distance. Katara watched him go, torn between the desire to comfort him and the knowledge that he'd rather be left alone. In the end, her heart won out and she stood as quietly as possible, careful not to wake the others, and crept into the dark after Zuko. Feeling their footsteps, Toph smiled and rolled over before promptly falling back asleep.

Katara stood back for a moment, just watching Zuko. He sat facing the lake with his legs pulled up to his chest, hands grasping his head tightly. Even from a slight distance, in the dark, Katara could tell that he was shaking. Her heart ached for him, but it wasn't until a sob suddenly rang through the still night air that she found the strength to move. Her feet propelled her forward, seemingly of their own accord, and then she was there, kneeling before him, pulling him into her embrace. He pulled back, eyes wild with panic, lost in a memory. She carefully took his face in her hands, forced his eyes to meet hers.

"I'm here, Zuko. Nothing is going to hurt you. Look at me." Slowly the shadows in his eyes vanished, replaced by recognition. He tried to turn his head away, clearly ashamed, but she kept her grip on his jaw firm. "I'm here for you," she repeated. "Just relax." She watched his throat work, struggling to hold back the sobs. "You're safe with me. Let it out." Katara released his face, and Zuko crumpled forward into her, his forehead pressed against her chest. She cradled him to her, stroking his hair, murmuring comforting nonsense to the top of his head.

When he finally calmed down she released him, and Zuko quickly turned his head away. They sat in silence for several long moments before Zuko finally spoke, his voice low and raspy.

"You must think I'm so weak." Katara turned, startled.

"Are you serious?" Surprised by her tone, Zuko faced her. "Zuko, you're the strongest person I know. I don't think any of us could have gone through what you did and come out of it as well as you have."

Zuko didn't reply, just turned to stare out at the lake. He didn't believe her. He hadn't been able to get away, hadn't been able to stop Zhao from raping him, wouldn't have been able to escape if it hadn't been for the gang. Left to his own devices he would have been dead, killed by his father. He wasn't strong. He was pathetic, just as Zhao had said he was; just as his father and Azula had always said he was.

"You've been beaten before," Katara said softly, after several long minutes had passed in silence. "Who did that to you?"

"My father," Zuko replied reluctantly. "He wasn't too bad when I was little, but when my cousin died, something in him snapped. Then my mom disappeared . . . there was nothing, no one, to stop him from lashing out at me. He had always been disappointed by me," he said bitterly," and with her gone he could finally make me pay for being an embarrassment." He couldn't believe he had just shared that with her. His face burned, and he was glad it was dark. Then he realized something. "How did you know that?"

It was Katara's turn to blush. "I saw the scars when I was healing you. They were really faint, but still there. Based on where they were . . . well, I figured it wasn't just from training."

"Were you staring at my butt?" he yelped.

"No, no," she protested quickly, mortified. "I mean, I saw . . . they were on your thighs, too. I just noticed that they went a little higher, also. I wasn't, like, looking or anything." They were both silent for a long time.

"Was he the one who burned your face?" Katara asked, her voice barely above a whisper. She heard Zuko swallow, felt him shudder next to her.

"Yes. He was teaching me a lesson." He turned to face her, and she was shocked to see how composed he looked. "I don't feel like talking any more tonight. I'm going to go back, try to get some sleep. You should come, too."

Feeling slightly numb, and sick to her stomach at the thought of Ozai burning his son, Katara stood shakily, nodding her agreement. Right before they got back to camp, Zuko grabbed her hand and stopped her.

"Don't tell the others about my scar. Please."

"I won't. You know I won't."

"I know." His eyes met hers. He wanted to thank her, but couldn't get the words out.

Katara's breath hitched in her throat as she stared into Zuko's golden eyes. They were swimming with emotion, open in a way she hadn't seen before. Then, abruptly, a shutter seemed to fall.

"Goodnight, Katara," Zuko muttered.

"Yeah. Goodnight, Zuko." Reluctantly, Katara let her hands fall from Zuko's grasp. They walked back to their respective sleeping areas and laid down. Their eyes caught in the darkness.

"Thank you," Zuko whispered.

He knew she couldn't hear him.


	10. Chapter 10

_Authors note: Finally, another update! I had some trouble getting this to flow right, so sorry if it seems a little weird – I knew exactly what I wanted to happen, I just had some problems getting there. I still plan on writing more, though for right now I honestly can't say when that will happen. This particular part has been whirling around in my head for a long time now, playing out over and over again with minor differences, but I've never really progressed from here, lol. Hopefully I can change that. Thank you to everyone who has stuck with this – I hope this doesn't disappoint. Keep the comments coming – feedback is great, and I'm open to suggestions about what should happen next. Again, thanks! Enjoy. _

The next morning, as the group sat around the fire eating breakfast, Zuko suddenly spoke up.

"I think we should go to my old house on Ember Island. No one will expect me to be there. We can stay there until the day of black sun, then we won't have to keep moving around anymore."

"Are you sure that's safe?" Sokka asked skeptically.

"Positive."

The gang looked around at one another, unsure. Katara, especially, looked concerned. While the others talked amongst themselves, trying to decide what to do, she moved so that she was right next to Zuko.

"Are you sure you want to go there?" she asked quietly.

"I already told you, it's safe."

"That's not what I meant." Zuko turned his head away.

"I know," he said softly. "But it'll be fine. It's the best place for us to be, and we won't have to keep moving." He turned back towards her, lowered his voice even more. "Besides, that was one of the rare places my dad always seemed happy. He was nice to me when we were there." Katara sighed.

"Okay. If you're sure."

"I am," he said, his voice hard.

Deciding not to waste a moment, the gang finished eating and packed up their meager belongings, then piled onto Appa for the trip to Ember Island. It was going to take them a few days to get there, and they all knew that the sooner they had a safe place to stay, the better. Toph groaned at the thought of climbing back on Appa for an extended time, but didn't argue. She knew as well as the others that it was their best choice.

* * *

The trip passed quickly, and it didn't take long for them to settle in at the house. A routine started – they woke up, ate breakfast, trained, then spent some time relaxing by the water. Impromptu sparring sessions, usually started by Toph, though sometimes by one of the others, were common. Later, they would eat dinner and discuss various plans and strategies for defeating the Fire Lord. At night they all retired to their own rooms, a change that took them all a bit to get used to. Katara, especially, found herself waking often to check on the others, particularly Zuko.

She was worried about him. Though he had been acting more relaxed since they arrived, she could hear him wandering the house at night, restless. Most mornings he awoke with shadows under his good eye, and she knew he couldn't be getting much sleep. Still, she found it harder to follow him, to get him to talk, without the openness of nature. There was something confining about the house.

Katara also knew better than to try and confront him. She had already learned that if Zuko didn't want to talk, he wouldn't. And ever since they'd moved in to the house, he'd been avoiding her. She knew that being there was bringing up memories for him, and having had some insight into his past, she could assume that many of them were not good ones.

Still, he had been the one to admit that they'd been happy there, once. Katara had hoped that maybe Zuko would find some peace there, but she had a sinking feeling that wasn't going to be the case. She just wanted him to talk to her, stop holding everything in. The night before they'd left for the Fire Nation, she'd thought that maybe they were making progress, maybe he'd start talking more. She didn't know much about what he'd gone through, but she was fairly certain that keeping his nightmares bottled up inside of him wasn't going to help him heal.

But once they'd reached the beach house he had shut himself off again, avoiding her except during meals and sparring sessions. It had been a little over a week since their arrival, and he'd barely spoken to her.

On their eighth night there, Katara lay awake in bed, frustrated, trying to think of a way to approach Zuko. Finally, giving up, she decided to go down to the beach and practice some water-bending moves under the moonlight. It had been so long since she'd truly immersed herself in her element – sure she trained daily, but it was mostly practicing against opponents while the sun blazed down. It had been ages since she'd just let herself feel the rhythm of the ocean, the pull of the moon. Katara figured it was just what she needed to calm down, perhaps ease her mind enough to finally allow herself to drift off to sleep.

She crept out of the house, careful not to wake the others. Once her feet hit the sand she began to run, eager to escape the darkness of the house. She didn't stop until the water lapped at her feet, enticing her to wade further. She stopped again when the water hit mid-calf, then slowly started going through the basic motions she had first learned.

As she danced through the water, twirling it around her, forming it into complex shapes and sequences of movements, Katara felt herself calming. She couldn't remember the last time she had bent simply for the pleasure of it, rather than necessity. It was nice to just enjoy it for a change, knowing that a misstep would not be potentially fatal. She closed her eyes, breathing deeply through her nose.

And that's how Zuko found her – dancing under the moonlight, surrounded by a ribbon of water, with soft waves crashing against her bare legs, long dark hair flowing freely in the wind. He had never seen her so at peace, so he simply stilled and watched her, not wanting to ruin the moment. He thought about leaving, turning back to the house, but he couldn't bring his feet to move. She was enticing, entrancing. Beautiful.

The word came to him suddenly, surprising him. It was true though, he realized. Katara was beautiful. He'd noticed it, a long time ago, then forced himself to ignore it – she was the enemy, then. He hadn't allowed himself to notice it again since. But watching her, he couldn't deny that it was true. He slowly sank to the ground, grateful for all his training in stealth. And then he simply watched.

Neither of them could have said how much time passed, but eventually Katara stopped, letting the water fall around her with a small splash. She turned to go back towards the house, and noticed the dark figure sitting on the beach just a short distance away. Her heart pounded in her chest; she instantly drew the water back up, prepared for battle.

"It's okay. It's just me, Katara," Zuko said quietly. She sighed in relief, once again letting the water fall around her. She waded through the shallow water until she hit shore, then approached him cautiously.

"Are you okay? What are you doing out here?"

"I needed to clear my head – get out of there, away from the memories. And then I saw you and . . . I didn't want to interrupt. You looked . . ." he started to say 'beautiful', then stopped himself, "happy out there. Peaceful." He paused a second. "Plus, I figured if I startled you, you'd attack me." Katara laughed softly.

"Probably." They both fell silent, sitting side by side on the warm sand. "You're avoiding me again," she said finally. "I know it's hard for you to open up, Zuko, but you don't have to be ashamed. Of anything. And I'll always be here for you. It can't be easy for you, being here, surrounded by memories."

"I can't stop thinking," he admitted. "About everything. My past. My future. I've made so many mistakes, Katara, done so many horrible things. Even being here, training Aang . . . I know that it's for the best, but I'm actively assisting in my own father's demise. How fucked up is that? The even sicker thing is, I know he would kill me without hesitation and never regret it – and I still feel guilty."

"He's your father," she said softly. "It's only natural."

"He's a monster," he replied. "One the world will be better off without." He shook his head warily. "I don't want to talk about him any more. He's tainted this place enough. Why were you out here, anyway?"

"Couldn't sleep." She paused, unsure, then rushed on, "I've been worried about you." Zuko turned his head towards Katara, surprised and slightly dismayed.

"I'm the reason you couldn't sleep?"

"There were other reasons, too," she mumbled, embarrassed. He reached out and took her hand in the dark. She shot him a startled look – it was the first time Zuko had ever initiated contact. He looked just as shocked, his eyes fixed on their intertwined hands as though he was unsure how they had become that way. Neither of them moved.

"I thought being here would make things easier," he admitted. "Not being out in the open, not being so exposed . . . I was wrong. It doesn't matter where I am, Katara. I see him everywhere. I can feel him when I close my eyes." His hand convulsed spasmodically, squeezing hers painfully tight; she stroked her thumb down his soothingly. "I'll never escape him," he whispered sadly.

Katara didn't know what to say, didn't know how to comfort him. She scooted closer to him, never releasing his hand, and laid her head on his shoulder. He didn't even flinch.

It was progress.

* * *

For the next four nights, Zuko and Katara met at the beach and talked. Sometimes it was serious, but mostly they just got to know one another. Under the stars, with the waves crashing gently against the shore, they allowed themselves to be free of their daily burdens. They allowed themselves to forget that in just a matter of weeks, they would either kill the Fire Lord and restore balance, or die trying. On the beach, with only the moonlight above, they allowed themselves to become just Katara and just Zuko – a water tribe peasant and a fire prince, a girl and a boy who found they were much more similar than they ever could have imagined.

Katara told him about her life in the Southern Water Tribe – the happy days before her mother was killed, when she still believed that everyone was good and the only thing that mattered was whether or not she and Sokka had taken full advantage of their day penguin-sledding; the dark days following, when she learned to be an adult at much too young of an age, taking on responsibilities and becoming a mother to her older brother. She told him stories of her father and the rest of the warriors, what it was like growing up with Sokka and Gran-Gran.

In return, he revealed what it was really like growing up in the Fire Nation, amongst the gilded world of the elite. He told her of the days spent training to become a master fire-bender; of the punishments received for failure. He told her about the day he realized his baby sister was everything their father had ever wanted in a child, while he was a complete disappointment. He told her about the days spent by the ponds with his mother, feeding the turtle-ducks and escaping what was expected of him. He told her about the night Azula came to his room and announced that their father was going to kill him in order to gain the throne; and about how he woke the next morning to find his grandfather dead, his mother missing, and his entire world broken at his feet. He talked about Iroh, and what a fool he was for not realizing sooner that his love was the only love Zuko had ever really needed.

And finally, he told her the full story of how he had gotten his scar.

Sometimes they laughed, sometimes they cried. Occasionally they held hands. Sometimes she rested her head on his shoulder. When she spoke of her mother's death, he put his arm around her, holding him close. When he broke down in tears over betraying his uncle, she pulled him close and stroked his hair, murmuring words of reassurance, telling him over and over again that Iroh would forgive him; that Iroh loved him, and that would never go away. Once, he had brushed the hair back from her face without thinking – luckily in the darkness it was impossible to see how red his face had grown. On the fourth night, as they were parting, he offered her a hand up from the sand, then wrapped her in a hug before he could stop himself. They had both stiffened for a second, then relaxed, then pulled away awkwardly, both unsure of what to do. In the end, they decided not to talk about it.

The others watched them closely, sensing that something had changed between the two. Meanwhile, although Zuko was opening up with Katara more, he had still not quite relaxed around Sokka and Aang. He was still tense, jumpy. If anyone approached him from behind he lashed out, terror filling his eyes. It became clear that Sokka was fed up with it. He couldn't understand why Zuko was acting that way, and tension in the group started to build. And then, during a sparring session nearly two weeks after they had arrived, the tension finally bubbled over.

* * *

"Hey," Aang said, gliding towards Zuko, "can you help me with something?" When he got no response, Aang landed silently and took several steps closer. "Hey, Zuko -" Aang tapped him on the shoulder, trying to get his attention, and Zuko spun around, sending out a slash of fire that missed Aang by mere centimeters. Aang fell to the ground, shielding himself; the burst of air he sent out passed by harmlessly. His chest heaving, Zuko looked down at Aang as though he couldn't even see him. His hands were still encased with flame. Sokka grabbed his arm, stepped between Zuko and Aang.

"What the hell is your problem?" he exploded. "Why did you attack him?"

Zuko's eyes lifted, meeting Sokka's, but they were blank; he was lost in whatever memory had seized him when Aang touched his shoulder.

"Answer me," Sokka demanded. "What is your problem, Zuko?"

"Hey!" Katara shouted, noticing what was happening. "Let go of him, Sokka."

"No. Not until he tells us what's going on. He's been acting weird ever since we rescued him, and we've all dealt with it, but this is too much. Now he's attacking for no reason."

"He didn't attack for no reason! Aang snuck up on him. He's still paranoid, and for good reason. We all need to remember to give him a little more space, give him some warning when we're approaching."

"I didn't mean to sneak up on him," Aang said softly. "I was just trying to get his attention, and,"

"I know, Aang," Katara interrupted. "And I also know that he didn't mean to attack you. Right, Zuko?"

A shiver ran through Zuko's body, but his eyes refocused at her direct question. He looked towards her, and she saw the shame and fear in his eyes. Her heart broke.

"That's not the point, Katara. We deserve to know why he's acting this way."

"I told you why he's acting that way. Let it go, Sokka."

Zuko pulled his arm out of Sokka's grip, took a step away from the feuding siblings. He rubbed his head wearily, then offered a hand to Aang, who was still on the ground.

"I am sorry," he said quietly as he helped Aang to his feet. "I really didn't mean to lash out like that."

"It's okay." Aang rubbed his bald head. "No harm done." He smiled, but Zuko could see the doubt in his eyes. Though he wouldn't say it aloud, Zuko knew that Aang agreed with Sokka.

He watched Sokka and Katara argue, feeling oddly happy as he watched her defending him. Unfortunately, he knew Sokka was right. It was time he told them the truth.

Taking a deep breath, Zuko stepped in between the two siblings, facing Katara. He cupped her cheek in his hand, causing her to stop speaking mid-sentence, and gently forced her to look him in the eyes.

"He's right," he said quietly. "I need to tell them the truth." Katara shook her head slightly.

"You don't, Zuko. Not if you're not ready." Her eyes filled with tears, and he looked away for a second.

"I'm never going to be ready," he admitted. "But that doesn't mean I can keep it from them. They deserve to know." She bit her lip, the water in her eyes spilling out, trailing down her cheeks. "Besides," he added. "You're the one who told me I have nothing to be ashamed of, right?"

Katara nodded. Zuko lowered his head slightly, resting his forehead against hers for the briefest of seconds, drawing strength from her. Then he released her, and turned to face the rest of the gang.

"Zhao raped me." The words felt funny coming from his mouth. Sokka's face drained of color.

"Please tell me that's a bad joke." Zuko didn't respond, and Sokka's stomach twisted painfully. Zuko looked around at the group; Aang was standing to the side, eyes wide, jaw agape. Toph was completely still, but he saw how tightly her fists were clenched, saw the tears pooling in her eyes. Sokka sank to the ground slowly.

"I'm sorry, Zuko," he said, his voice low and shaky. "I'm sorry that happened to you. I'm sorry that I've been such a jerk. But Katara's right – you have nothing to be ashamed of."

"Did he do it more than once?"

"Toph!" Katara exclaimed. "You can't just ask something like that." Before Toph could reply, Zuko answered.

"Yes. Eleven times, to be exact." Aang whimpered softly, and sank to the ground just as Sokka had done seconds previous.

"But he only had you for five days," Sokka whispered. He squeezed his eyes shut, and Zuko saw the tears that escaped, rolling down his cheeks. He looked away.

"We'll find him," Toph said, her voice hard. "We'll find him and we'll make him pay for what he did to you, Zuko. I promise." He looked at her; such a fierce warrior for a girl so young. Such a loyal friend. He had the insane desire to run over and hug her, but resisted, knowing it would be awkward for both of them.

"Thank you, Toph." Zuko took a deep breath. "I'm going to go rest for a bit." No one spoke. Katara looked as though she wanted to say something, wanted to stop him, but she didn't. They all watched him walk away, back towards the house.

Once he was gone, Sokka spoke up.

"You knew? All this time?"

"I figured it out while I was healing him. I promised him I wouldn't say anything." Katara looked down at her brother, bit her lip. "It wasn't my secret to tell. It had to be Zuko's decision."

"Yeah," he agreed reluctantly. "You're right. It's just – I feel so bad, now. I mean, there were so many times I acted like an ass to him." He shuddered slightly, bowed his head again. Tears dripped to the ground in front of him.

"It's not your fault, Sokka," Toph spoke up softly. She walked over to where he sat, plopped down next to him, and leaned her head against his shoulder. They all went quiet, absorbed in their own thoughts. After several minutes, Katara announced that she was going to check on Zuko. Sokka nodded, but no one said anything.

As she walked towards the house, Aang suddenly pushed himself up from the ground and grabbed his glider. Without a word, he soared off down the beach, far away from the rest of the gang. Katara saw him go, felt a small pang of regret. Then she shook it off. She couldn't worry about Aang – she needed to see how Zuko was.

When she reached his room, she knocked softly on the door; no response. She wasn't surprised. Steeling herself for what she might find, Katara pushed open the door. Zuko lay on his side on the bed, eyes staring blankly towards her. Even from across the room, she could see the tremors that rocked his body. She walked slowly across the room, cautious, not wanting to scare him, then kneeled on the edge of the bed. She started stroking his hair, something she'd taken to doing when he was consumed by memories. After several seconds, his hand came up, covered hers, grasped tightly.

"It's okay, Zuko. You're okay." He nodded slightly, swallowed hard. For a long time, they simply stayed as they were, him lying there, her kneeling uncomfortably next to him, fingers intertwined against his skull. His raspy voice eventually broke the silence.

"Will you lay with me?" He asked the question tentatively, afraid she would say no; afraid that he was overstepping their boundaries. Katara surprised him by immediately complying, laying down on her side so that she was facing him. He ran his fingers lightly down the side of her face, brushed back her hair. "I never could have made it without you, Katara."

"Of course you would have. You're strong, Zuko, even if you can't see it."

"No." He shook his head definitively. "I was prepared to die aboard that ship, Katara. I wanted to. Even after you rescued me – I didn't want to be alive anymore. I didn't trust anyone, couldn't stand the thought of anyone being near me. But you were determined to save me. You wouldn't let me push you away. Anyone else would have given up on me, but you were never willing to do that. You gave me hope that one day I could be whole again, and even now, when I still sometimes feel like giving up, you're there. You pull me out of the darkness, Katara. Every time I think my memories might drown me, you're there to pull me back up." His voice had gone rough with emotion; Katara was crying silently. "You are the only reason I'm still alive." Zuko pulled her closer, pressed his lips against the top of her head. She snuggled into his chest, wrapped her arm around his thin waist. Together, they cried.

And then they fell asleep.


End file.
